


The Price of Beauty

by Vivion



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Anorexia, Eating Disorder, Human!Bill, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possibly Triggering, anorexic!Bill, because I love healthy relationships more than anything, fashion designer!Dipper, healthy relationship between Bill and Dipper, mentions of purging, model!Bill, past manipulative relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-06 20:24:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5429624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivion/pseuds/Vivion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Bill ever wanted was to be beautiful. He just didn't expect a fashion designer to give him everything he needed and more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Цена Красоты - The Price of Beauty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7476525) by [MirrorGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirrorGirl/pseuds/MirrorGirl)



> This is just a little drabble I wrote due to pent up stress during finals. I couldn't get the first line out of my head, so I just started writing and this all happened. I don't really know where this is going, and I have another fic in the works (Golden Hills), so I don't reaaaallly know when I would finish this one. But hey! If enough people like this one I'll get to work on a tangible story plot and whatnot for y'all. Anywho, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated :3
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> -V

He did it because he loved the way his ankles looked. The way they looked so delicate that he could snap them in half like the twigs they were. That he could see how thin the skin was there, how the bone stuck out like that. It was so beautiful how pretty they looked, so petite, so thin. He used to stare at his ankles every morning, the love he felt for them overwhelming him to tears. And when he wore those pants, the ones that were too big, too long, darker than the color black could ever be, those pants made his ankles even more beautiful. He had to roll up the pant legs quite a bit, and when he pulled the tight waistband over his hips it hurt and sometimes he wondered if he would be able to get out of them, but it was worth it. The dark color would compliment his too pale skin, the bagginess showing off just how tiny his ankles were. It was one day, when he was wearing nothing but those pants, standing in front of his mirror, did he realize just how much he craved it. The thinness. The skinniness. He wanted it all over his body, not just his ankles. He wanted his body to be beautiful too.

His eyes trailed over his flat stomach, his noodle arms, his shallow cheeks, but his eyes didn't see the already thin state his body was in. No, he saw the fatness there, the invisible bulge of his stomach, the nonexistent flab of his arms, the false pudginess of his cheeks. Fuck he hated it, how fat he looked in the mirror. The only pretty thing was his beautiful...petite...thin ankles. It was that day did he make a subconscious goal to achieve that state of beauty.

Thin.

Skinny.

Perfection.

Picturesque.

And that's how it began. The dieting. The starving. The vomiting. All of it. All because of his ankles. And it continued. For four years straight. His entire high school career he found himself always in the bathroom puking up the remains of the lunches he packed for himself. If you could call them lunches. A salad. One apple. A bottle of water. And a pill. Delicious. And when his stomach growled at him, begging for him to eat, he would ignore it, take another pill, and mentally (or physically) slap himself. Do it for the beauty he chanted. Do it for the ankles.

If his friends noticed, his family, teachers, they didn't say a word about it. Bill pretended that nothing was wrong, like his body wasn't screaming at him, and everyone else pretended too. It was the easiest to do after all. To turn a blind eye. To feign ignorance to the situation. It was so, so easy, and he was grateful for it.

It was during his senior year in high school when he was approached by a stranger who asked, "Hey kid, you look pretty good. Wanna model?" How could he say no to that? It was like his prayers had been answered. He was going to show to the world just how beautiful he had become. But when he went home that night and looked in the mirror, he was disgusted. He was still fat. Still had his bulging stomach. His noodle arms. His pudgy cheeks. His eyes glazed over as he looked at himself. How can he possibly go out looking like this? Posing with this fat body? He was so lost in his thoughts to even look in the mirror. To actually look. Without his thoughts fogging his vision. Because if he were to look, genuinely look, he could see the skeleton he had become. How his eyes had sunken into his skulls ever so slightly, how his collarbones stuck out so much that they could cut someone, how he could count every single rib he had, how he could practically trace his hips, how his spine looked about ready to snap.

No, all he saw was his ankles. His perfect little ankles. He was blind to his dying.

For four months he didn't eat. Not once. And if he did, he would puke it right out not twenty minutes later. And once he hit that four month mark, he passed out cold in the middle of class. He woke to find himself in the hospital, IVs hooked up to his veins, slowly pumping the water into him. And he smiled to himself. He was finally perfect. He was finally thin. When he was released from the hospital, his parents finally forced him to eat. But they didn't know that the contents would soon end up being flushed down the toilet bowl when they thought their son was doing his homework.

After a couple weeks of assuring his parents he was alright (he wasn't), he went back to the modeling agency and filled out the application. The receptionist was handing him the forms when she looked at him suddenly and asked, "Sir, are you in a healthy condition to be modelling?" He laughed cheerfully, telling the lady that he was (wasn't), and with a smile handed the papers back to her. Not too long afterwards, he received a call from the agency and was being asked to come in for an interview. "Are you able to come in tomorrow evening?" they asked over the phone, and he replied yes, and that he wasn't busy tomorrow evening (but he was, for he didn't tell them that he was bedridden for the week because of the pain that coursed through him).

"Number four."

After high school his modelling career took off, and he ended up dropping out of college in pursuit of his dreams. His ticket into the higher realm of celebrity status. And he loved it. Every minute of it (or so he thought). And it was all thanks to his ankles.

"Number four?"

His beautiful, thin, petite --

"Last call for number four!"

He was shocked out of his stupor, realizing that he was, in fact, number four. He rose quickly from his seat, "I'm here!"

He was then rushed by several volunteers to a man holding measuring tape. "Pleasure for you to finally join us," he said, whipping out the tape. "Hand your forms and portfolio to Miranda. We are going to get your measurements first before you walk."

He handed over his belongings to who he assumed was 'Miranda', who looked like she was about ready to object something Measurements Man had said, but she gave up a second after, her shoulders sagging a little. Miranda was dressed like the other volunteers, except she had on a gray sweater with logos of famous fashion brands with a matching gray headband in her wavy brunette hair. She looked over his papers and portfolio quickly. "Mister Bill Cipher?" she asked.

"The one and only!" Bill grinned, his perfectly white teeth flashing his signature, predatory like smile. Measurements Guy then pulled him over, making him life up his arms. He measured from the tips of his dainty wrists to his arm pits, then his shoulders, his chest, his waist, his hips, his legs. He wrote down the measurements onto a sheet of paper, then stuck it with the forms Bill had just signed. "Alright, Mr Cipher, Miranda will show you where you need to go next."

Bill followed Miranda as she led him over to the mock catwalk. It was several long blocks that were lined up back to back with a small staircase just to it's side. "This is where you will walk, Mr Cipher," Miranda explained, although Bill had done this dance many times before, but he entertained the lady, nodding politely. "You'll walk down this catwalk to music, pose at the end for our judges, walk back, then do it again a second time. After your walk we'll have you get photos taken with our photographer, and then you can head on home."

Bill nodded to Miranda, climbing up the few short steps to the catwalk. He watched as Miranda hustled over to the judges, six of them total, and handed them all of his papers and his portfolio. They each talked among themselves briefly before signalling for the music to play.

A song erupted from the speaker set up, a series of hard and indistinguishable beats playing loudly. Bill took several quick breaths. And then he took his first step. And then he went autopilot. Each step he took was sharp, personal, in tune with the beats. The sway of his hips, the confidence in his strides, the way he held himself higher than anyone else in the room. In the back of his mind, he knew he hooked the judges as he posed for the first time, putting his hand on his hip and jutting himself to the side. He held the pose briefly, turning to the side to give a profile, then strutted back down the catwalk, only to strut right back and pose again.

He reached the end of the catwalk, and the music stopped abruptly. "Thank you, Mr Cipher," one of the judges said, rising from their chair. "We will let you know within the week if you've been selected for this years Gravity Falls Fashion Week."

You mean when I'm selected he thought cheekily to himself, but didn't say a word as he gave a little bow to the judges before heading over to the photographer. Once the photos were taken, his portfolio was handed back to him and he was told he could officially leave. He shook hands with the photographer ("You've got one hell of a wicked grin, Mr Cipher." "I know, thank you.") and promptly walked out of the event space. His gaze fell over the other models, taking in their clothes, their shoes, their makeup. He could easily pick out the newer models from the old timers. They wore a little bit more heavier makeup, more styled hair, and, most obviously, their legs bounced as their heeled shoes beat the floor repeatedly. He laughed to himself quietly, turning to head out to his car, when he came face to face with another person. A man.

They were nearly the same eye level, Bill just being a tad shorter than the man. The stranger had slightly tanned skin, with light freckles dusting over his nose. His eyes were a deep brown, and he had a mop of curly hair that was semi-tucked under a hat. Bill was momentarily bemused as he saw a pine tree on the man's hat. Pinetree huh? What a nickname that would be Bill thought. Pinetree was dressed in a simple gray tee and jeans, along with a loose black jacket that prohibited Bill from noting the man's physique. In his hands held a large black portfolio, as well as a sketchbook and a couple of pencils. Before Bill could say a word, the stranger spoke a quick and mumbled apology before sidestepping Bill. He watched as the peculiar man walked away, and Bill couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as the man passed the sign in desk and walked into a room that had a sign that said "DESIGNERS ONLY" on the door.

Bill watched the door a little longer, curious, and when the stranger walked back out, their gazes locked for a moment. Bill didn't miss the way the strangers eyes quickly traveled up and down his body, and if he weren't an apparent designer, Bill would have thought the guy was sizing him up. But instead, the man looked into Bill's eyes one last time before walking out into the main event space. A smile spread on Bill's face, one unknown to the stranger, and he turned on his heels, walking out of the building.

The stranger, whose name was actually not Pinetree, made his way through standing models and chatty volunteers. He rounded behind the judges table and over to the photographers stand, there he found his sister, her back turned to him as she watched photos being taken of a model. He lightly tapped her shoulders, and she spun around quickly, her hair almost flying into his face. "Dipper!" she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around his neck as she pulled him down into a hug. "Hey!" Dipper laughed, returning his sister's tight hug. "How goes the auditions?"

Mabel huffed loudly, puffing her cheeks out. "It's just not fair! There's all these gorgeous guys and gals walking about and I can't even chat up any of them! Plus, that one guy keeps forgetting my name! The newest one he used was 'Miranda'."

Dipper laughed at that. "Are you talking about Avery? The guy who is taking measurements?"

Mabel nodded, sending a light glare at said man.

"Don't worry 'bout him, hell he doesn't even get my name right and we talk almost everyday," he reassured her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders comfortingly.

"Whatever, I guess." Mabel shrugged. "He's still meanie for not getting my name right."

"He's mean in general," Dipper retorted with a snort.

The rest of the afternoon was spent watching models go back and forth, but Dipper had lost interest after the twentieth walk, so he decided to head back to the designers room to sketch. It was strange to think about sketching, designing. He always figured (as well as everyone else in the family) that it would be Mabel to go into the fashion industry. And yet one fateful day Dipper found himself doodling in his math notebook out of pure boredom, and ended up sketching out an assortment of clothing items. He drew in secret for the longest time, until Mabel found one of his notebooks, entire pages full of his designs. The squeal that she made when she shoved the notebook in his face reminded him of when Waddles would run around the Mystery Shack looking for food. Or Mabel. One of the two really.

So, with much of Mabel's constant support and urging, Dipper took as many art classes as he could in high school, and ended up taking Fashion Design and Merchandising in college. That's how he found himself here now. Designing a clothing line for the Gravity Falls Fashion Week. It was crazy insane to think about how far he had come, but he doesn't regret a single bit of it. Even those long, sleepless nights just staring at a blank canvas weren't regrettable in the slightest.

Dipper sat alone in the room, his eyes solely focused on the page before him, overlooking previous designs he had made for the show. He sighed, turning some of the pages. Nothing seemed to be coming out quite the way he wanted to lately. He laid his head on the table he was at, staring at his sketch book. He hated to say it, but he was suffering from one of the biggest art blocks he's ever had. He closed his eyes then, thinking. He felt like the clothes were too generic, too simple. He needed inspiration from something, anything, but where?

Dipper found his thoughts straying towards the strange model he ran into earlier. There was something interesting about him. He could recall the model's wild blonde hair, his piercingly pale blue eyes, his prominent cheekbones, slender nose, clear skin. He was thin, incredibly so, Dipper could see it even through his clothes. Dipper wondered what that model would dress like, without the standard black shirt and jeans the auditions required the models to wear. He thought about it for a while, a long while actually, his mind running wild with ideas. Maybe he only wore black and leather? Or perhaps he went with the more exotic route, feathers, bold prints? Or maybe...gold? Dipper could see that actually. Massive amounts of golden jewelry. And white, long, draped clothing, with sheer material layered over one another. Dipper bet the stranger would look like a god.

His eyes snapped open. His eyes were wide, full of images of gold and white clothes. His fingered itched, and he sought out the closest pencil to him, grabbing it in his hand. And then he set to work, the vision of that strange model was all he could see. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! I hope y'all are having an awesome start to the new year :) I haven't been able to write very much due to a hectic schedule, but I'm hoping that once things sort of calm down I'll be able to post more regularly. This chapter is a bit on the shorter side, but it helps put the gears in motion. Also, I'm using what little knowledge of modelling that I have to help write this story, so I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies. 
> 
> -V

_ You have such a beautiful body… _

_ But… _

_ I wonder what you would look like… if you lost a little more… _

_ Could you do that for me…? _

_ Just a little more weight… maybe from here… and here…  _

_ Just imagine how pretty you would look…  _

_ Could you lose a little more for me…? _

_ I’d love you even more- _

Bill lurched up from his bed with bile rising in his throat, threatening to explode from his mouth. He scrambled out from tangled sheets, his naked body freezing as his skin came into contact with the cold bedroom air. He stumbled over thrown and dirty clothes, rushing to the connected bathroom in a hurry. He didn’t bother with flipping the light switch as he knelt before the toilet, lifting the lid fast and leaning forward. Before he could get in one last breath, bile spilled out from his lips violently, mixing in the water below. 

He stayed in that position for several minutes, throwing up what he had to eat mere hours ago before falling asleep. Pain coursed through his body with each heavy heave, a pain that he was and should be familiar with, but not like this. Throwing up had become such a toxic norm for him that now the most pain he felt from it was the pain of when his fingernails were too long and scratched the back of his throat on accident. But this… this wasn’t done on purpose, this was a different pain. A pain that was harvested deep down in a place he refused to admit existed, a place where he chose to ignore as much as possible. It was nights like this though, nights where he couldn’t sleep, being plagued by ruthless nightmares, when that place unearthed itself from his memories, forcing its way to the forefront of his mind. It made him sick to his stomach to think about. 

The bile stopped flowing soon after, in place of the wretched taste now was dry heaving that too ended after a moment.  Bill shuddered, leaning hard on his forearm that held up the lid. His breathing was haggard and broken, and he wanted nothing more than to just collapse right then and there, but he knew better than to fall asleep on the cold tile. On shaky legs he slowly rose up, shutting the toilet lid closed and flushing the bile down. He shut his eyes in attempts to steady himself, but instead images of a tall, dark man flashed behind his eyelids, and Bill could feel his empty stomach churn yet again.

He moved away from the toilet and over to the sink. He flicked the light switch on and harsh florescent light flooded the small bathroom. His eyes were trained on the sink as he turned the faucet on, watching the running water go down the drain. He cupped his hands to catch the water, bringing the warm liquid up to his lips and pouring it into his mouth. He made a desperate attempt to cleanse the foul taste from his mouth, repeating his process of getting water into his mouth several times, before finally brushing his teeth with toothpaste. The process in itself was tedious, but Bill would rather not have that tasteful reminder of the previous moments still in his mouth. 

Once he got most of the taste out, he switched the water off and straightened up. His eyes found his sad, naked reflection. His blonde hair was wild, sticking out all over the place or sticking to the sweat that beaded his forehead. His eyes were almost sunken in, and the bags under them were heavy and dark. The last couple of nights haven’t been the best to him really, but he wasn’t bothered by long, sleepless nights anymore. His eyes glossed over the rest of his features, his prominent jaw line, his shallow cheeks, his pale lips, and rested on the rise and fall of his chest. He could count each of his ribs now if he wanted to, could trace every single curve of his stretched, taut skin. He narrowed in on his stomach, and slowly he turned to the side, observing his form in the mirror. 

‘Have I gained weight…?’ he thought idly, placing his palm flat against his stomach. He sighed, deciding to figure it out in the morning when he wasn’t exhausted, and flipped off the lights. The bathroom plunged into a comforting darkness, and Bill left it as he walked into his bedroom, stepping over clothes that littered the floor. There was a single, large window in his bedroom, pouring in the moonlight over the minimal furniture that was in the room. A king sized bed, covered only in white sheets and white blankets, with a full body mirror just beside it and a night stand on the other. There was also a chair in the corner of the room, as well as a clothes rack along the wall. The walls were blank, white, and held not a single picture or photo. There might have been a time where he had these walls covered in photographs of himself and another, but that was long ago in another life he already lived and died. 

Bill collapsed onto his bed, taking in a deep breath of the clean linen smell he liked. He rolled over, outstretching his arm in attempt to find his phone. His fingers brushed against it, and he picked up the phone delicately, having accidentally cracked the screen a day before. He tapped the screen twice and the phone came alive, the bright screen shining down in his face. He squinted as he looked at the time. 

3:41 am.

He sighed again, but then he noticed he had a notification from his email. He unlocked the phone and pulled open the app. There were seven unread emails, and he clicked on the first one without reading the subject line. 

**Congratulations! You or your child have been selected** -

Bill stopped reading the email then, already knowing what the rest of the email said, as well as the other emails in his inbox. He had been chosen as a model for the fashion show he recently auditioned for, and surely the rest of the emails were from designers who wanted him to model for them. He opened each email, barely reading them all and either rolling his eyes or immediately sending them to the trash. Having read so many of these emails before, he found that they all followed the same pattern-

The introduction. 

_ Hello! My name is ______ and I’m a designer for ______. _

The praise.

_ Your audition was amazing and spectacular! You’re truly a sight for the eyes! _

The invitation.

_ I would love for you to model some of my designs for the upcoming show. _

Their hook.

_ Not only will you get your pay, but also ______ and ______. _

And finally, their designs.

_ Take a look at what I have, let’s stay in touch! _

There weren’t many designs that Bill hadn’t seen before, but he looked at them all anyway. Even if the design is unoriginal, he would still rather wear the unoriginal design than an ugly one. He checked the date most of the emails were sent, finding that he received them within days of the confirmation email of being on the modeling roster. ‘Thirsty designers,’ he thought, and went to check all the emails as read, but his eyes found the very last email he received. Instead of the typical subject line there normally would be, this one read  **Modelling for me** . 

“How unprofessional…” he muttered harmlessly with a smirk, noting that the time it was sent was mere minutes ago. “And also a night owl.”

He opened the email and began to read. 

**Dear Mr Cipher,**

**Thank you for even opening this email, though I’d be surprised if you did. You probably have a ton of requests from the other designers, so I don’t want to waste much of your time. Attached I have some of my new designs for the upcoming fashion show, if you have any interest in  modeling them then please let me know. If not, no big deal.**

**Sinc** -

The email was cut off there, and Bill raised an eyebrow at that, letting out a light chuckle. This designer was something else, so informal and to the point. He kind of liked it. Attached to the email were several images, and he tapped on the first one. Once it finally finished downloading, he opened the photo. What he saw was enough to make him accidentally drop his phone on his face. ‘Shit…’ he thought, rubbing the sore spot on the bridge of his nose. He picked up his fallen phone, gripping it a little too tight, and looked at the design again.

To put it simply, it was gorgeous. 

Complexly, it was the prettiest design Bill has seen in a long while, something he hadn’t seen before either. The design itself was simplistic, a loose, white dress with a deep cut. The dress flowed out in the back with a trail that would drag behind the model. There was a slit in the side of the dress, and Bill could imagine just how the dress would fan out when he walked, and he found it to be such a pretty sight. Along with the dress was a sheer white shawl that would be draped over the model’s head and shoulders, almost like a veil of sorts that would also wind loosely around the arms. What caught his eye the most though was the golden belt that hung loosely around the waist. The belt resembled the look of rope that was wrapped around numerous times, with its ends falling behind with the dress’ trail. 

The design was so simple, modestly so, and it reminded Bill of the purity and beauty of a bride on her wedding day. In an odd thought, Bill imagined himself in the place of that lovely bride, and he found that he didn’t mind in the slightest. Hell, he wanted it. Longed for it. 

He quickly glanced at the other designs, finding them all to be just as beautiful as the first, and Bill wasted no time in writing out a reply to the unknown designer.

 

 

**V^**

 

 

“Shit!” Dipper cursed at himself, having accidentally sent the email before signing his name on it. All it took was one loud, violent sneeze for him to hit his desk with his knee and knock over his empty cup that would hit the mouse and click send.  Dipper dropped his head to rest on the keyboard, groaning loudly. At least he had the right mind to attach his designs to email first. 

The designs. 

He raised his head, turning a bit to find his sketchbook resting beside the keyboard. He wondered if Bill would like the designs he made. He was, after all, the inspiration for all of the designs, though he probably shouldn’t admit that just yet. He didn’t know a single thing about this model other than the fact that he was apparently wildly popular (as evident from the designers meeting Dipper went to not long ago after auditions) and was good looking. Dipper sighed. He probably should have sent the email in the morning, there was no way he was going to see it at… Dipper checked the time and blanched.

3:38 am. 

Dipper rubbed his tired eyes, trying to battle himself into going to bed. It was about ten minutes later did he hear a ding from his computer, and he glanced up to see that he had a new email.

**re:Modelling for me**

Dipper choked indignantly, shocked mostly because the model had gotten back to him so quickly and so late at night, what was he doing up at this hour? He clicked on the email, although hesitantly, and read the response. 

**Dearest unknown designer,**

**Your designs are absolutely lovely, I would love to see more of them. Also, I would love to model one of the designs, particularly that first one. My deepest apologies for sending this reply so late, but it seemed fitting to respond as soon as I could, even if in the middle of the night. Let’s stay in touch.**

**Sincerely,**

**Bill Cipher**

**_P.S._ ** **\- Might I have the pleasure of knowing my mystery designer’s name? And please, call me Bill.**

Dipper couldn’t believe it. He read and reread the email several times over, even pinched himself too to see if he was truly awake. With the fifth pinch he decided that he was, in fact, awake and that the model, Bill Cipher, had agreed to model his designs. Though still slightly dazed, he began to type a response.

**Dear Bill,**

**My name’s Dipper. Dipper Pines.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GAAAH THIS CHAPTER >.> I don't know how I feel about it truth be told. The formatting of this chapter is kinda strange/different/unique, so hopefully it won't put anybody off. Also I feel like this chapter is a little hard to swallow as well, albeit more so towards the end, but that might just be me fretting. Next chapter will probably feel more normal-ish and longer I hope @.@
> 
> -V

**To: Bill Cipher**

**Subject: Designs**

 

**Dear Mister Cipher,**

**I know it’s been about a week since we last talked, but I wanted to send you some more design concepts I made and get your opinion on them. We haven’t talked very much, but I trust your judgement when it comes to these sorts of things, and I would love to get your opinion on them.**

 

**Sincerely, Dipper Pines**

 

\--

 

**To: Dipper Pines**

**Subject: re:Designs**

 

**Dear Dipper,**

**These designs are absolutely lovely! My favorite though is still the very first one that you sent me, I actually printed it out and it’s taped to my bathroom mirror right now. Also, please, for the life of me, call me Bill. Mister Cipher is reserved for my father, who I definitely not to think about. May I ask, how long have you been designing dresses and clothes?**

 

**-Bill**

 

**_\--_ **

 

**To: Bill Cipher**

**Subject: re:re:Designs**

 

**Bill,**

**Sorry about the Mister Cipher thing, everyone keeps telling me to address the models professionally, but I much rather prefer to keep things more comfortable and not stiff. I got into designing when I was in high school I think? It probably might have been earlier actually. My sister, Mabel, was the one who urged me to pursue a career out of it. You might have actually seen her at the auditions! She was helping out as a volunteer with the measurements.**

 

**Also, I’m glad you like the designs! I wasn’t really sure about them truth be told.**

 

**Sincerely, Dipper Pines**

 

\--

**To: Dipper Pines**

**Subject: re:re:re:Designs**

 

**Why wouldn’t you be sure about them? They’re wonderful! I haven’t seen that much originality in a long time, and they are definitely eye catching. What’s your muse?**

 

**I think I recall seeing your sister? Was she wearing a grey sweater with a bunch of different brand names on it? Although I think Measurements Man called her Miranda instead of Mabel so it might not have been her. Also, kudos to you for sticking with designing! Most people quit after their first year.**

 

**-Bill**

 

\--

 

**To: Bill Cipher**

**Subject: re:re:re:re:Designs**

 

**Well, my muse for these designs in particular was a model that I had seen at the auditions. But in general, I don’t really have much of a muse? I mean, whenever I’m designing something I like to make the outfits seem as if they are almost apart of nature, if that makes any sense, so I keep things very light and flowy and natural. And Mabel was definitely wearing that! Avery is probably the “Measurements Man” you’re thinking of. He’s not the nicest person around, but he gets his stuff done.**

 

**And thanks! There have definitely been some times where I thought about quitting, but Mabel said she would slug me if I ever quit. But what about you? When did you get into modeling?**

 

**-Dipper**

 

\--

 

**To: Dipper Pines**

**Subject: re:re:re:re:reDesigns**

 

**I’d probably slug you too, your designs are too good to not be showcased! That’s interesting that your muse for these were actually another model, maybe I know of them? And Avery seemed… different, to put politely. I’ll have to say hello to Mabel whenever I see her again.**

 

**As for myself and modeling, that’s an origin story for another day, but to put simply I’ve been a model ever since the end of high school. In a weird way, it was like I was living a double life, but it was worth everything I had to go to in order to get there. Hell, you should see my portfolio. I won’t put it here though because it’s so long, I’ll have to bring it sometime whenever I see you.**

 

\--

 

**To: Bill Cipher**

**Subject: re:re:re:re:re:re:Designs**

 

**You must have one extensive portfolio! I’d love to see it sometime though. Avery is definitely interesting, but you probably won’t have to deal with him much, me on the other hand… We get along I suppose? Also I’m sure Mabel would love to talk to you! She was just talking to me the other day about modeling herself, but I wasn’t much help since I’ve never actually done it. She would probably ask like a million questions though, I hope you don’t mind.**

 

\--

 

**To: Dipper Pines**

**Subject:**

 

**That subject line was getting out of control. I don’t mind questions actually, I would have more than enough answers to give her. Hopefully I won’t scare her off though, sometimes I have that effect on people.**

 

**Say, how about we meet up for coffee sometime? Then you could bring Mabel and your designs and I can bring my portfolio and we can all talk about the upcoming show. That is, if you don’t mind at all.**

 

\--

 

**To: Bill Cipher**

**Subject:**

 

**Yeah, that subject line was getting crazy. And that sounds awesome! Where would you like to meet us?**

 

\--

 

**To: Dipper Pines**

**Subject:**

 

**I know this really nice coffee shop that was actually near the auditions place. Maybe we could meet there Saturday morning around 11 or so? Would that work for the both of you?**

 

\--

 

**To: Bill Cipher**

**Subject:**

 

**It should! Mabel is definitely excited, I just texted her about it and she sent me a message back that was just a bunch of yeses in all caps.**

 

\--

 

**To: Dipper Pines**

**Subject:**

 

**Splendid! Can’t wait to see you both then! Don’t forget to bring your designs.**

 

\--

 

**To: Bill Cipher**

**Subject:**

 

**Will do! See you then, Bill.**

 

\--

 

Dipper exited out of his email with a sigh, checking his phone again. Mabel sent him another message, but it was the continuation of the first text she had sent that was still the yeses in caps. Dipper chuckled lightly, setting his phone next to his laptop. He looked back over the emails he had just exchanged with Bill. Dipper would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous about meeting the model. Bill seemed friendly enough, and more than excited to be working with him but…

There still felt like there was something he wasn’t getting when it came to the model. The feeling kind of hit Dipper hard when Bill was talking about his modeling. He didn’t want to pry too far but he couldn’t shake the feeling. _It’s probably nothing_ he thought to himself, rubbing his bleary eyes. How long had he been sitting in front of his laptop? He looked at the time and was shocked. It was already well past 8, they had been talking for almost an hour straight!

Dipper got up from his seat and stretched his arms, his joints popping loudly at having been in the same position for a while now. He looked down at his laptop one more time before shutting the lid close. For a moment, he thought about what Bill was doing right now. The more he thought about Bill, the more worried and nervous he got. What if Bill showed up and didn't like him? or Mabel? Or what if Bill was actually the rudest person he would ever meet? What if Bill actually didn't like Dipper's designs and was only being nice? Or what if Bill was already working with someone else and Bill was just humoring him?

What if Bill didn't even show up at all?

Dipper blanched.  _I need to stop thinking about this_ he told himself harshly.  _Stop worrying, you'll get over this and everything will be fine. You'll see._ Dipper sighed once more, picking up his phone to respond to Mabel's text before heading towards the kitchen. 

 

**V^**

 

Bill looked down at his phone one last time before setting it on the couch. He lolled his head back to stare at the ceiling for a while. It felt later than it actually was, though that was probably because he has been sitting in the same place for an hour now or so. He didn't mind that he missed dinner time. It wouldn't be the first time anyway, and missing a couple meals didn't equate much to him anymore. Now, if it was for longer stretches of time, then that would be something else, but this, this was petty. Bill closed his eyes slowly, feeling his breathing deepen and slow. He let his mind wander, something he didn't do too often. A wandering mind was a dangerous one he found. However, at the forefront of his mind were the designs he had gotten so used to seeing now, even if it has only been a week or so. His thoughts went to the conversation he just had moments before. 

For some reason, he just couldn't stop thinking about the designer. 

**_-You have such a beautiful body-_ **

Dipper Pines. What an odd name in it of itself.

**_-if you lost a little more-_ **

He seems genuine enough,

**_-Could you do that-_ **

but Bill was always on guard

**_-more weight-_ **

when it came to these types of things.

_**-from here-** _

That was something

_**-here-** _

he had to learn 

**_-I'd love you-_ **

the hard way.

**_-even more-_ **

Bill's eyes snapped open, blurry images of a man from long ago swimming in his vision. He got up quickly from the couch and ran off in the direction of his bedroom. He rushed into the room and made his way quickly to the bathroom, jerking the door open and stumbling inside. In the dark yet again, he found himself leaning over the toilet, bracing all of his weight on his forearms.  _I need to stop thinking about this_ he thought to himself, his breathing quickening.  _Stop worrying, you'll get over this and everything will be fine. You'll see._

And then the retching began. 


End file.
